


superstition

by Thymolphthalein



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Magic, Implied Relationships, M/M, cryptic fic with no explanation, don't expect any
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-14
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-10-08 18:59:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17391878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thymolphthalein/pseuds/Thymolphthalein
Summary: The Senate blocked Sigurd's magic, which was a pretty stupid thing to do in hindsight.(Not that anyone liked the Senate, or that it was capable of things such as "self-evaluation." )





	1. i: he would be proud (until he fell;)

_If you ever get to a problem you can’t solve: throw your gears at it_. 

***

There was a thing between Sigurd and hope. A vague, human-like thing. Shifting, spouting and losing limbs where convenient. Eyeless, it appraised him. 

Sigurd’s voice escaped him. What was he to say anyway, against this thing of nightmares? “Leave me alone and come back to kill me when I have my magic back?” Not a chance. Pathetic and out of character. He geared up into Base-Two. He grimaced: he couldn’t sustain this for long. Even now, the gear pestered him, demanding magic he couldn’t provide. 

Magic. If only he had that. He could vault the wall behind him, defend himself, shift into Base-Zero— _anything_ would give him an advantage. Now, he was at a loss. 

The thing shifted. There was a brief pause. 

It struck.

***

Sigurd dragged himself through the streets. Blood stained his shirt; the wound had cauterized. He raised one hand to the doorbell. It shook as he pressed it.

The door swung open. Ned stood in the entrance, shock of hair illuminated by the light. Sigurd dropped his gear like a veil.

‘What happened to you?’ Ned was already reaching for the first aid kid, ushering Sigurd in, shutting and bolting the door. 

Sigurd watched Ned cleanse his wound. He disinfected it, and wrapped it with gauze. Methodical fingers twitched. He was tense. They both were.

‘I lost my gears.’

Ned flinched. He tucked the gauze in, hesitant, and filled a glass with water. He said nothing.

‘One hit from those things.’ 

Ned swore. Sigurd rose to pace. 

‘What are we going to do?’ Ned asked him. 

‘I’m a wanted man.’ Sigurd spun on his heel. ‘No magic. No gears. Only my core set that I can’t use. Tomorrow, the hunters will come.’

‘The Senate has a stick shoved up their ass.’

Sigurd chuckled a dry chuckle. ‘And I’m the one who told them about the new threat. Such irony is wasted on them.’

‘There are circles in the house. Maybe we could use those?’

‘Circles...’ Sigurd took a sip of the water. ‘Yes. Some mages forget to dismiss them; sometimes they’re left in as defensive purposes. I will see if we can enable them. What we’re looking for is a cloaking one, pass-me-by, the like. They look like this—’ Sigurd drew one, and then a couple of elements underneath. ‘—generally with these components. Come with me.’ 

Ned followed him. Sigurd led him to the study, and flipped over the table. Papers fell to the floor, Sigurd ignored them. ‘We’re  _here_.’ He tapped the centre. ‘This is the boundary of residence,’ he traced the border between smooth wood and a myriad of lines, ‘and the engravings are the house and the circles.’ 

Ned understood little. Sigurd was absorbed in the carving.

‘The house was designed for a battle. See here—lynchpins. Ready-to-go, low maintenance. Thaumaturgy, too! I can activate them from here.’

‘What’s the pin? Doesn’t it need magic?’

Sigurd muttered something, then swore. ‘I’ll be back. My teacher would frown on this, but it’s not like he’s here.’

He dashed off to the kitchen. Ned was left in the room, with magical carvings he couldn’t decipher. What the heck was a lynchpin, anyway?

Sigurd dashed back into the room. His fingers were coated with blood, and he slammed them down on the rune-table. It absorbed it. Something  _changed_.

‘I hope you didn’t aggravate your wound.’

‘No, no, I didn’t. I just took some from my clothes.’ 

‘Right.’ 

‘Later, we’ll do something about the senate?’

‘How so?’

‘Connections. Nobody likes them: it will be easy.’

‘Won’t it be lossy?’

‘Yes.’

‘Be careful.’


	2. ii: (gearless-boy,) like a bad star

A note, left under an empty mug of coffee, read:

_The senate is down; d_ _isbanded_ —it was not in Sigurd’s hand— _to put it_ _in … “nicer terms.” There was a real shit storm. Unfortunately_ _, it has been a moon cycle. What has been lost cannot be recovered._

_As for your friend? He is better. Recovering. The influx of magic nearly roasted him: it is what happens when one holds an affinity. A gaping_ _vacuum_ _. We_ _apologize_ _for what happened. Your interests aligned with ours._

_No bounty hunters will visit you, even though they_ _essentially_ _control the world. We are not a “threat” anymore, but we still hold power. You have been warned._

_Do not make an enemy of us._

_We want hosts, so_ _we don’t_ _wreak havoc_ _. The human race is an interesting one; you would not like a non-human to win it. We are fine with your dead. Perhaps we can even become allies, you don’t know._

_We are watching you, gearless-boy. We shall see how this plays out._

Ned took it, smooth sheet of paper under his hand. The ink blanched before him; he thrust it into the fire. The doorbell rang. 


	3. iii: afterword (interpretation)

‘Are you him?’

‘It depends on your definition of “being.”’ 

‘Then you aren’t?’

‘I wear his skin, speak his mind.’

‘ _Who are you?_ ’

‘Him.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written as a practice fic so I don't stuff up a fic I actually care about.


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